


It's better than I ever even knew (they say that the world was built for two)

by brokentoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autofellatio, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentoy/pseuds/brokentoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is alone in the mental institution. Not much to do in there but listen to his brother and follow his suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's better than I ever even knew (they say that the world was built for two)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiptoe39](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/gifts), [triedunture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/gifts).



**Title** : I t's better than I ever even knew (they say that the world was built for two)  
 **Author** : [](http://brokentoy.livejournal.com/profile)[ **brokentoy**](http://brokentoy.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **Pairing** : Castiel, Lucifer  
 **Words** : 1316  
 **Beta:** A huge, huge thank you goes to [](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/profile)[ **triedunture**](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/).   
 **Summary** : Castiel is alone in the mental institution. Not much to do in there but listen to his brother and follow his suggestions.   
 **Warnings** : autofellatio.   
 **Author's Note:** this madness was born out of a conversation over twitter with [](http://tiptoe39.livejournal.com/profile)[ **tiptoe39**](http://tiptoe39.livejournal.com/) , who had just reblogged [this beautiful picture](http://smotherfucker.tumblr.com/post/22257344328/so-i-drew-cas-sucking-himself-off-i-was-gonna) of Cas, well, sucking himself off.   
Title is from 'Video Games' by Lana del Rey.   
  
  
  
  


 

'Little brother,' he said, 'you know there's something you could do to pass your time, right?'  
  
—  
  
He thinks of Dean; every day he thinks of Dean and every night too. Dean who's not there to keep him company, Dean who never calls.   
  
He thinks of Dean and what he'll say to him when he finally sees him again: would he tell him a story about life in the institution? Would he try and crack a joke?  
  
Would Dean laugh?  
  
He thinks of Dean and has no answers.  
  
—  
  
'Come on, little brother,' he said, 'I know you want to try.'  
  
—  
  
The days pass and so do the weeks, and there's nothing for Castiel to do but read, draw his feelings and talk to the wall.  
  
The wall sometimes answers, but that's usually his brother in disguise playing tricks with his mind and giving him a headache.  
  
Castiel hates headaches.   
  
—  
  
'I'm sure Dean would love to see you do it,' he said. 'Would you, little brother? For Dean.'  
  
—  
  
Meg comes by twice a day. She tries to play the role, swings her hips and tosses her hair back like a young, human nurse would when she crosses paths with a doctor. She smiles a beautiful smile, but Castiel can see through it.  
  
He can see the demon; he can see its face writhe under the pretense of skin and makeup and he  wishes Dean was there to take her place.  
  
Sometimes... sometimes when Meg touches him, pretending to check his temperature or clean him up, the dark textures of her damned soul twist and twirl so forcefully and disgustingly that Castiel finds himself wishing for his brother, even.  
  
Lucifer is beautiful compared to what Meg is.  
  
Lucifer has always been beautiful, if he's honest with himself.  
  
—  
  
'I bet you'd look hot, little brother,' he said. 'I bet Dean would think so too.'  
  
—  
  
The nights are the worst. It's not the darkness that bothers him; his eyes are made of light, he does not fear the emptiness of blindness.   
  
It's the silence that breaks him.  
  
The voices of the Host are long gone and what comfort is provided by the people living here — under this disgraced roof where madness resides and is, as they like to believe, cured — is gone by ten in the evening making way for the false comfort of sleep.   
  
He does not need sleep, and so he listens to the void.  
  
Contrary to what he might have once believed, his brother isn't a constant presence in the back of his head. He comes and goes, mostly when other people are around so that he can truly be an infliction, but he's otherwise silent.  
  
Castiel, contrary to what he might have once believed, finds himself longing for his brother's voice to keep him company.   
  
—  
  
'Little brother,' he said, 'I promise you will like it.'  
  
—  
  
He tried the drugs, but they don't work.   
  
Of course they don't. He's still an angel, even if cut off from sanity and anything celestial.   
  
He envies humans and their capacity to drop unconscious and lose themselves in a dream, envies their bottles of alcohol and painkillers.    
  
What would happen, he sometimes wonders. What would he dream of?  
  
He thinks of Dean every day already; would Dean also walk into his dreams if he could fall into peaceful slumber?  
  
Castiel doesn't know and never will.  
  
What he knows is that he's alone, and that is not changing anytime soon.  
  
—  
  
'Yes, little brother,' he said. 'You'll see. I wouldn't lie to you.'  
  
—  
  
And he doesn't.   
  
His brother doesn't lie when he tells him that it feels good, because it does. It does feel good and Castiel screws his eyes shut even more, concentrating on the pleasure as it shoots through his body in little lighting flashes.   
  
But there's no thunder. All is quiet except his brother, whispering filthy encouragements as Castiel discovers the wonders of his human body.  
  
He never knew humans could do this. He never had reason to try and guess.  
  
But gravity works to help him and his lips close around the plump head; his erection sits heavy on his own tongue, a generous drop of precome pulsing out of it in an explosion of taste around his mouth. Castiel wonders briefly if everyone could do this; if _Dean_  could do this.   
  
He conjures him in his head, naked in his bed as Castiel is in his own, spine curved as he strokes himself to hardness dutifully; a frown of concentration would mark his forehead, even if Castiel is sure Dean wouldn't be as clueless as he was about the reactions of his body.   
  
'What did I tell you, little brother,' Lucifer says. 'You look beautiful like this.'  
  
His brother's voice and the picture his mind created of a sweating, groaning Dean have Castiel involuntarily pushing his body forward, and he has to open his mouth wider, wider still to welcome the hard flesh of his cock, hot and fat and nothing he ever really cared to acknowledge before.   
  
'Yes, little brother,' Lucifer says. 'Use your tongue.'  
  
And Castiel does. He licks tentatively around the head and he's rewarded with another drop of precome sliding wet and musky right into the center of his tongue. It makes him gasp, and the movement has his cock slipping from his mouth and sliding to his cheek, leaving a shiny trail of pleasure and spit behind.   
  
The air hits him and it's cold; he craves warmth and comfort and so he grips his lower body tighter and maneuvers his hips so that he can continue and suck himself with added enthusiasm.    
  
'Deeper, little brother,' Lucifer says. 'I know you can go deeper.'  
  
And Castiel can. He goes deeper and moans around the invasion of his throat, the vibrations around the solid flesh inside him sending jolts of pleasure and making him lightheaded.  
  
He feels power coiling inside his belly; warm and angry he feels it pushing, growing and screaming to be released and Castiel feels a little bit more alive with it, an urgency to his movements to just let go.   
  
He doesn't understand what is happening; he doesn't really know. But his brother speaks to him, guides him through it and Castiel is finally not alone in this.   
  
He is not.   
  
'Harder, little brother,' Lucifer says, 'suck harder and you're there.'  
  
And Castiel does, and he is.  
  
It explodes in and around himself and he feels beautifully free, eyes clenching and heart beating fast and faster as ribbons of sleek wetness fall into his mouth, choking him and making sputter for air. He doesn't have the presence of mind to swallow he can't, it feels like flying and he's lost. He feels the mix of spit and come trailing down his lips and neck, falling onto his chest in fat, slick drops and he tries his best to calm his racing breath and pounding heart and just—  
  
He falls limply on the mattress, spent and flushed and barely understanding what is happening to his body, and his brother is there looking at him. He smiles a sweet, sweet smile, eyes crinkled with humor and affection as he takes a step forward, soundless as he always is, the air around him never disturbed.  
  
'See, little brother? You did like it,' Lucifer says. 'I would never lie to you.'  
  
Castiel tries to move but he's confused, dazed and fucked-out.  
  
There is madness all around him and inside, but he knows, he knows he's not alone.   
  
'I'll keep you safe, little brother,' Lucifer says. 'I love you, little brother.'  
  
Castiel nods, and lets his eyes close.


End file.
